


Lune de Miel (Honeymoon)

by storm_of_sharp_things



Series: Here Beside You and Me [4]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, Moose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22573291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/pseuds/storm_of_sharp_things
Summary: Eames vs a moose. No really, that’s about it.Fourth in theseries, but this stands alone beautifully if you don't feel like angst or hurt/comfort (always comfort,always).Title is T.S. Eliot's poemLune de Miel
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Series: Here Beside You and Me [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1424176
Comments: 11
Kudos: 39





	Lune de Miel (Honeymoon)

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for [mabrii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mabrii), whose comment of appreciation for the moose bit in Inveterate Scars prompted this moose bit to spiral entirely out of control.

Eames slipped carefully out of bed, smiling down at Arthur as he tucked the covers back around him. “Going out for a fag, love. Go back to sleep.”

Arthur made a quiet noise, presumably of agreement, as his eyes closed again. Eames bent to kiss the top of his head and then pulled on several layers of clothing and his boots. It was still snowing outside, and, though it was admittedly picturesque, it was also bloody cold. Autumn, in the mountains north of Montreal, was a far cry from the tropical island he’d just spent months on, but it suited Arthur, brought out the roses in his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes as he tramped through the high snow.

Arthur in a thermal henley, a flannel lumberjack shirt and lined jeans, calf-high boots and thick woolen socks, a canvas winter coat and mittens (mittens!) was a sartorial fantasy Eames had never known he’d had. It was not the tailored suits, waistcoats, fine leather gloves and Italian leather shoes that Eames had first fallen in lust with, that still had the power to literally bring him to his knees, but Arthur wore it all with his usual composure and self-assurance, and it made Eames’ mouth water when he thought of peeling it all back off him, layer by sturdy soft practical layer. Like opening a Christmas present over and over, with Arthur watching him indulgently each time until Eames got down to bare skin.

Eames sauntered slowly down the path, taking deep drags of the cigarette and smiling to himself over his thoughts. Arthur was also sleeping so much better these days, the dark circles under his eyes almost gone, the gauntness of his wrists and collarbones starting to fill out.

They seemed to have gotten past the point of deepening damage and into the healing, for which he was grateful. It had been a thoroughly fucked-up several months. Eames was grateful that there were no more of the violent nightmares, that Arthur easily and fearlessly met his eyes now, that there was no hesitation when they reached for each other. It was entirely _his_ Arthur who slept tucked against him, who woke rumpled and grouchy until his first cup of coffee, even on vacation. _His_ Arthur who still blushed when Eames bullied his way into the shower with him. _His_ Arthur who giggled when Eames unexpectedly blew a raspberry on his belly and then was immediately appalled and attacked him like an offended cat.

Eames smirked to himself at that memory. It had been entirely worth the boxed ear, in his opinion.

Speaking of cats... He frowned. There was a sudden strong scent of urine and the sound of a steady stream of water. He glanced around, realizing he’d come further than he thought from the cabin, and froze in his tracks at the sight of a huge moose, a few meters away into the woods, pissing into a hole in the snow. The moose turned its massive head to look at him and snorted. It was taller than he was, and the spread of antlers seemed greater than his height, too. It stomped at the ground and huffed again, lowering its head threateningly.

Eames backed away, keeping his hands down and feeling behind him for each step, praying he didn’t trip over anything. He tried to remember what he’d read on the internet about moose attacks but what he mostly remembered was reading some blighter’s opinion that moose attacked humans when they mistook them for upright bears. Bollocks, he’d thought at the time, but now all he could think about was how not to look like an upright bear while he got the fuck back to the cabin.

How fast could they run? He couldn’t remember that either, but with four legs to his two, he’d damn well bet it was much faster. He didn’t think his 9mm would do much more than piss it off, either, unless he got _very_ lucky.

So a straight run down the path was right out. Okay, what else had he read... At that moment, his boot slipped on an icy patch and he flailed, trying to recover his balance. The moose grunted and charged and Eames scrambled for the nearest tree, keeping it between them as the moose knocked into it and backed away, glaring.

“Look,” Eames panted reasonably. “Neither of us wants this to be happening.”

The moose sidled around, trying to get a new angle on him.

“You bastard! I’m clearly trying to de-escalate the situation!”

The moose lunged for him again and Eames put the tree between them again, then raced for another, bigger, tree while the moose shook his head and backed off a step.

“You’re a right nasty one, aren’t you? And an ugly fucker, too. I don’t like to make appearance-based comments, but...” He dashed for another tree. “Got a head like an old boot, don’t you? One that’s been outside for years and been pissed on by badgers or wolverines or something. And I’ve never seen knobblier knees, for fuck’s sake, any god that designed you was too effing bladdered to match bits properly, am I right?”

He strategically retreated tree by tree until he was almost at the cabin, but he’d been forced, by tree choice, to circle around towards the rear and there was no way he’d get to the door at the front of the cabin before the moose got him.

He threw a brief glance in the direction of the cabin. He could probably jump onto the lower part of the wood pile and climb it to make it close enough to jump onto the roof. He didn’t think the moose could follow him onto the roof.

“Right, mind this instead of me,” he muttered as he tossed a snowball off to the side into some bushes as a distraction and lunged for the woodpile, scrambling up it and leaping for the snowy roof.

He got himself astride the ridge line of the roof and crowed triumphantly. “Hah! Up yours! Who’s got the high ground now, evolution’s embarrassing arse-end?”

The moose grunted and rose up on its hind legs to peer at him, making itself seem about as tall as the nearby trees.

“What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing, you bugger? Get stuffed! There’s no way you’re making it up on this roof!”

His cell phone, forgotten in his coat pocket until now, rang. He scrabbled for it. “Arthur? Bloody hell, Arthur, don’t come outside, there’s a murderous fucking moose out here that’s... _you fucking wanker don’t you dare take a piss at me like that I will shoot the fucking antlers right off your head!_ ”

He could hear laughter through the phone and scowled. “I’m not feeling the love, darling. All I wanted was a nice smoke and...Arthur...Arthur!...call me back when you can form words,” he growled and hung up, staring morosely down at the moose as it circled the cabin, pausing every now and again to dig a hole in the snow and piss in it before whacking his huge stupid antlers against a tree.

Eventually Arthur called back.

“Hello _darling_ ,” Eames said, trying to resettle more comfortably on the ridge of the roof. “Nice to hear from you.”

“Eames.” Arthur was coherent, if a little breathless. “What did you do to the moose?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely _nothing!_ I was just walking and smoking and thinking about you, which was apparently a terrible mistake, stop laughing you berk, and there was this great sodding moose pissing in a hole off the path and I just tried to back away slowly and now here I am, I can’t believe I’ve been treed, well, roofed maybe by something that looks like it was put together out of the the bits left over at the bottom of the bin.”

The moose called out and whacked its antlers again and then Eames heard a distant wailing.

“...mating season,” Arthur was saying.

“ _I know it’s bloody mating season, Arthur!_ ”

“Well, it must have taken you for a threat, somehow, and...”

“You think? That’s perishing brilliant, my poppet, I’ve never seen you display more careful reasoning and you really must remind me to congratulate you properly one of these days, but in the meantime, _I’m stuck on a sodding roof while a moose pisses angrily at me and now there’s a bloody female wailing away out there in the gathering sodding darkness!_ ”

Eames could hear choking noises through the phone and hung up on his beloved again. The cow moaned eerily again, much closer, and Eames could swear he saw the big bull moose perk up.

“Oh bloody bloody hell, no...” Eames muttered.

His phone chimed with a text message. **_Sorry. Really_**.

 **Not sorry enough, you prick** , he texted back.

**_When she gets close enough, they’ll probably mate and you can slide off the roof and get in the front door._ **

Eames fumed while the male paced, shifting restlessly on the roof. It was wet and cold and beginning to press into sensitive areas.

So of course she came out of the trees and met the male right in front of the bloody front door.

His phone rang while the bull was attempting to mount the cow not three meters from the door. He held it in his hand and looked at it for awhile, letting it ring merrily through the foul curls of loathing that Québec was beginning to inspire deep within him. Eventually it stopped ringing and a series of texts chimed through.

**_sorry_ **

**_um_ **

**_it wont take him very long_ **

**_sorry_ **

Eames considered the texts. For Arthur to forgo capitalization and punctuation meant he was trying very hard indeed.

**_im making tea_ **

**_and running a bath_ **

Eames stared daggers at the cow, who kept walking out from under the male and then circling coyly back to him.

 **Blowjob** , he texted.

**_all the blowjobs_ **

He contemplated that for a pleasant moment as the goddamn cow danced away from the bull again, then dialed Arthur’s phone. “Back window,” he said over the pleading croaks of the bull and started sliding along the roof towards the back of the cabin.

“On it,” Arthur said and hung up.

Eames tucked the cell phone away safely and leaned a little over the edge of the roof, waiting until Arthur had opened the window and removed the screen before dropping into a snowdrift and clambering quickly through the opening, letting Arthur help pull him in.

“Not a word,” he said to Arthur as he stripped out of his wet clothes. Arthur shook his head as he helped, his lips pressed tightly together and his eyes suspiciously bright.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” Eames warned him. Arthur shook his head again and guided him to the bathroom silently, eyes glittering.

Eames settled into the hot water with a ragged sigh and let his eyes close as his head relaxed back against the tub. He heard a quiet clink of ceramic and then the gentle burble of tea being poured. He opened his eyes just in time to watch Arthur kneel and set the cup down, and was startled when the bull moose let out a triumphant honk outside. Arthur lost his mind, holding on to the edge of the tub while he howled with laughter, tears streaking down his face.

Eames growled but couldn’t find it in himself to try to make Arthur stop. It had been so long since he’d seen his darling let loose like that and, honestly, it was probably worth the whole damn moose experience.

Although... ”I’m not setting foot outside this cabin again without a rocket launcher, love,” he said firmly when Arthur had managed to catch his breath.

Arthur gave him an impossibly fond look as he chuckled and wiped his face. “I think that may be dreaming a little _too_ big for the situation, Eames.”

“Petal, we’re clearly going to have to agree to disagree on that. Now, I believe there was a mention of blowjobs?”

Arthur huffed a laugh and offered him the teacup instead. “I’m not amphibious, so obviously that will have to wait until you’re not submerged.”

“Oh, _now_ you’re putting arbitrary conditions on the blowjobs.”

“Yes, Eames,” Arthur said solemnly, though his eyes were dancing and happy. “Entirely arbitrary conditions that will allow for future blowjobs because I won’t be drowned.”

“Be that way.” He grinned back, wallowing in the joy that sparkled between them. Even if the future held more senseless moose-related incidents, it would also hold Arthur, and that would always be an acceptable trade-off.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem itself doesn't have too much to do with the story, although it was _intended to_ originally (before I was sidetracked into the moose thing blowing out of control :), so I don’t have any quotes from the poem in the text, but honestly, it's kinda funnier if you apply it to the moose(s) rather than to our boys...
> 
> [Here's a link to the poem and translation that demonstrates some of the difficulties of translating poetry](https://po.missouri.edu/cgi-bin/wa?A3=ind0601&L=TSE&E=7BIT&P=708684&B=--Boundary_\(ID_6bzZD40bLDXxHpHO1e%2F4rQ\)&T=text%2Fhtml;%20charset=iso-8859-1)


End file.
